


Destiel: In Living Color

by ArgentNoelle, Sonia34



Category: Supernatural, WandaVision (TV)
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Angst and Feels, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Drama, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fix-It, Fluff and Humor, Humor, M/M, Married Castiel/Dean Winchester, Mystery, Protective Dean Winchester, Psychological Drama, Rowena MacLeod & Sam Winchester Friendship, Sitcom, Team Free Will (Supernatural), Team Free Will 2.0 (Supernatural), Zachariah Being an Asshole (Supernatural), based off the plot of wandavision, black and white television, canon compliant through 15.19 (which is the end of the show obviously), is actually IC/serious outside of TV land, references to Pleasantville (the movie wandavision based its premise off of)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:34:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28900485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgentNoelle/pseuds/ArgentNoelle, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonia34/pseuds/Sonia34
Summary: Dean Winchester and his husband Castiel are happily living in the town of Arcadia. Every morning, Castiel goes to work for a mysterious company, and every morning Dean takes care of the house they've lived in since... since... well, that doesn't matter, because everything is perfect. And if only the world would stop glitching out, maybe he'd even believe it.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 13
Kudos: 42





	1. Episode 1: The Promotion

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys!  
> We're so excited to be sharing this ongoing work with you, we're having a lot of fun writing it!
> 
> After watching the first few episodes of Wandavision, we thought the concept had a lot of potential. And so, with the knowledge that everything is better with destiel, we decided to spin off their idea in true SPN fashion. :)
> 
> (You don't have to have watched Wandavision to understand the story, which will be diverging a bit from their plotline.)

_You’re watching Destiel. The following program is brought to you by El Sol._

* * *

It was a fine morning in the Winchester household. Through the chintz curtains, the sun was dancing playfully across the kitchen table. Dean Winchester, the human of the house, stood at the stove, singing ditties as he made omelettes. 

_ "Some destinies should not be delivered; but you and I see now, baby, that still they are; winning, it makes losers of us all, 'cause the dice roll, so indifferently..." _

The day was bright, hopeful, and completely colorless. 

The divine Castiel entered the room, pulling a trench coat over his suit. “Good morning, Dean,” he said.

“Morning, Sunshine,” said Dean, shooting him a smile. “Guess what day it is.”

Castiel furrowed his brow in thought. “Thursday,” he said, eventually. 

“Well, you’re—you’re not wrong,” said Dean, pointing over at the wall calendar. Castiel approached it, to get a closer look. “Someone’s drawn a heart over today’s date,” he mused.

“Wonder who that was,” said Dean, mischievously.

“It wasn’t me,” said Cas.

“What do you think it means?” Dean asked.

“Well, obviously someone really likes Thursday,” Castiel informed Dean gravely. Dean sighed, smoothing out the apron he was wearing over his sweater vest. Cas turned in time to see the motion. “Ah, almost forgot,” he said, before kissing the cook, as the embroidery on the item of clothing instructed. 

_—Awwwwwww_. 

“Don’t suppose that reminded you what was important about today,” said Dean.

“I’m sure if I’d forgotten something I’d know about it,” said Cas. He sat down to enjoy his breakfast omelette. He smiled at it, enjoying the sight, before handing it to Dean. “Mind finishing this for me, baby?” he asked. “I don’t eat.”

“As always,” smiled Dean, giving Cas a peck on the cheek, and sliding the plate across the table. “Now you’d better hurry to work before your boss comes knocking.”

“Of course,” said Cas. “Another day at the office.” He went to the door, took his hat and put it on, exiting the cozy home. A moment later there was a knock at the front door.

Dean hurried toward it, taking off his apron and dropping it to the couch as he went. He opened the door to see their neighbor, whom he had never met. 

“Why you just have the loveliest place,” she said, breezing past him into the room. “Sorry, I would’ve come housewarming when you moved in a few weeks ago, but my husband and I were out of town. Tell me, what’s an attractive young bachelor like yourself doing moving into a big ol’ house like this? —Betty by the way,” she said, taking his hand and shaking it.

“Oh, I’m not a bachelor,” Dean assured her. “I’m married, actually.” 

“Aww, good for you,” Betty said. “Got a wife?”

“Husband.”

“Small world, me too!”

She folded the apron on the couch before sitting down. “So how are things with you both,” she said.

“Um, fine,” Dean said, sitting at the opposite end of the couch. “’Sides the fact that he forgot our anniversary.”

“Oh,” the woman shook her head. “My husband does that all the time. I’m sure he’ll catch on soon enough, especially if you celebrate.”

“Celebrate? How so?”

The woman whipped a magazine from under her arm and unrolled it. “I was reading this the other day and it has a lot of grand ideas.”

* * *

At work, Castiel sat at his desk, stacking papers. 

“Gosh I’ve never seen anyone stack papers as fast as you,” said the guy at the parallel desk.

“Thank you,” said Castiel, not looking up, instead stacking another paper on top, making sure it lined up perfectly. 

“Those’re contracts, right? You’re supposed to sign ‘em.”

“I will,” Castiel said, stacking another one.

The boss walked into the room.

Castiel grabbed a fountain pen and hurriedly began signing the documents. 

_—hahahahahahahah._

It didn’t do to have the boss see you slacking off.

“How’s it going there, bucko?” said the boss, patting Castiel too hard on the shoulder.

“It’s going fine, Zachariah,” Cas said.

“Good ta here. Now about that promotion we discussed. I’m all prepared to consider it, and make my final decision after dinner tonight.”

“Dinner?” asked Cas.

“Me and my good friend Uriel, we’re gonna stop by, remember?”

Cas’s eyes flitted to Zachariah’s heart-shaped tie pin. It all made sense now. He started loving Thursdays a little bit less. “Of course, how could I forget?” said Cas.

_—hahahahahahahah._

“That’s my boy,” said Zachariah, patting him on the cheek. “I expect top hosting skills from you and the Mister! You know last time I dropped in on an employee for one of these things, the roast duck was burned. So I fired him.” He made a snapping motion with his fingers. “Permanently. Understand?”

“I think so.”

“Good on you,” said Zach, looking at the stack of papers, and pushing the top one with his finger so that the edges were no longer matched up perfectly. Cas scowled, as Zachariah walked out of the room, humming his favorite song, _As the Saints Go Marching In_.

* * *

At the Winchester estate, Betty was reading Dean tips from the magazine.

“Then we have candles. It also says that if all else fails, you can remind your husband of the fun fact that men who become disinterested in their marriages are 50% more likely to die mysteriously in their sleep. Especially,” she added, with interest, “if they had a lot of money.”

“Wow,” Dean said. “Romantic.”

“Next section,” she said. “How to _seduce_ him. Stumble, and let him help you up.”

“That’s how we met,” said Dean, with a nostalgic smile.

“Play footsie under the table. Raunchy,” she said, winking. “Or, ah, put on a dressing gown.”

Dean furrowed his brow, picturing his grey wool dressing gown with the initials T. E. P. on the front. He'd gotten it from a tag sale for for 99 cents and was convinced it had belonged to bisexual Hollywood star, _the_ Tyrone Power himself. Unfortunately, though Dean wore the robe every morning, Cas had yet to be impressed. 

“No offense lady," Dean said, "but those seduction techniques are kinda crap.”

Betty cocked her head.

“Let me tell you what _I_ would do,” Dean said, leaning in conspiratorially.

The shot changed quickly to Betty, who blinked for a few moments, shocked at his description of something unfit for family television. The phone rang.

Dean walked over and picked it up. “Well, speak of the angel,” he said. 

_—hahahahahahahah._

“Dean listen to me very carefully,” said Cas. “It’s about tonight. I remembered what’s so important.”

“Oh,” said Dean, smiling warmly. 

“It has to be perfect,” said Cas.

“It will be,” said Dean suggestively. “I have everything under control,” he added, giving a thumbs-up to Betty.

Cas sighed in relief, rubbing a hand across his forehead. “Thank God,” he said.

“Are you okay?” asked Dean. “You sound a little stressed.”

“I’m fine,” said Cas. “But this can’t go wrong. I have a feeling that if we make one misstep, I might not live.”

“Whoa, geez, calm down,” said Dean. “The stakes aren't _that_ high.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “Sure. Sorry I’ve just… I’ve never done this before,” he said. “Now I was thinking, the best course of action will be to impress the husband.”

“Oh, well you do that,” Dean said. “I’ll ahh… I’ll focus on the other husband.”

“Good,” said Cas. “We’ll nail ‘em.”

He hung up the phone.

Dean hung up too, a little flustered. “Wouldn’t say no to that,” he murmured.

_—hahahahahahahah._

* * *

After ushering Betty out the door, Dean decided to go shopping. All they had in the fridge right now was beer, strawberries, and chocolate. That was not sufficient for an anniversary. He was going to cook all the best stuff: burgers, bacon, and the _expensive_ kind of beer. Not that gas-station stuff. He drove to the supermarket in his shiny car, smiling out the window at the neat front yards and picket fences. “This town is mighty fine,” he said, waving at a neighbor walking down the street in a stylish overcoat.

At the supermarket, he grabbed all the ingredients he needed, excitedly discovering yet _another_ new kind of tomato. 

When Cas finally came home, Zachariah and Uriel in tow, the scene had been set. The living room was lined with candles and the table arranged for two, with a spread of burgers, bacon, and beer around a centerpiece of red roses. Zeppelin's "South Bound Saurez" played off a record in the corner. Cas eyed it warily.

“Something happen to the lights in here?” Zachariah said, “or can you just not pay the electric bill?” he finished, patting Cas on the back. “You really do need that raise!”

Cas looked apprehensively toward the kitchen. This didn’t feel right. He quickly excused himself, trying to find Dean.

Zachariah and Uriel stood awkwardly in the middle of the room while the music blared.

“ _Ooh now baby, when you move it makes me feel so good_.”

From another room, Dean walked in, hair combed to the side, sporting wool dress pants and a cotton dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. No tie, collar unbuttoned just far enough to be scandalous. He sneaked up to Zachariah, not realizing who it was in the dim lighting, threading a hand around his arm and slapping his rear. “Guess who,” he whispered.

Uriel snickered. 

Castiel swept back in, in time to see the unfortunate mistake. Dean met his eyes, startled, looked back at who he was holding, and jumped away from Zachariah.

“Do I get a hello too?” Uriel asked smoothly.

“Dear, can I speak to you?” Cas hissed, grabbing hold of Dean and dragging him into the kitchen. “Dean, what do you think you’re doing? We need to impress them, not hit on them!” He looked at Dean’s state of dress, momentarily distracted. “What are you doing?”

“What am _I_ doing? Who _are_ they?”

“As if you don’t know, those are my bosses,” Cas said, crossing his arms. “I know I want this raise, but it’s not necessary to sleep with them for it!”

“Whoa, whoa, you think I’m trying to sleep with your bosses to get you a raise?” Dean asked.

Cas made a shrugging, hands-out gesture, whose only possible translation could be: duh. “This is so unprofessional,” he said. “How am I supposed to fix this. They’re probably appalled.”

“Well, what if I did sleep with them?” Dean said, trying to think quickly. “Would that help?”

Cas glared at him. 

“Sorry,” Dean said. “I didn’t know we were having guests, I thought it was just gonna be you!”

“Why would I come back for dinner with my bosses without my bosses? I’m not an idiot, I figured out that the heart on the calendar symbolizes the heart-shaped tie pin that Zachariah always wears. This was the evening of the promotion dinner!”

“Okay, we'll get through this, I swear,” Dean said, buttoning his shirt. He snagged Cas’s tie, as Cas watched him, curiously. Dean put the tie on, and then buttoned Cas’s trench coat to hide the fact that he was now underdressed.

“What’s taking you two so long,” Zachariah said loudly from the other room. “And where’s the light switch?”

“Coming!” said Cas. He walked back into the living room, followed by Dean, who turned on the light.

“Well, now that you’re done with whatever _that_ was,” Zachariah said. He turned to the table and gestured at it, before noticing the two place settings. “What, are you gentlemen not eating?”

“Oh, uh,” Dean said. “I uh… I wasn’t finished setting the table.”

“Ah,” Zachariah said, looking at him condescendingly.

Dean backed into the kitchen, rushing to assemble more burgers.

“Your husband’s very friendly,” said Uriel.

Cas side-eyed him. “He can be, yes,” he said at last. He paused, before adding, “he’s from Kansas,” with a knowing look, as if that explained it.

Zachariah and Uriel looked back at Castiel, nodding with feigned comprehension.

A minute later, Dean came back with two more place settings, while Cas pulled up the rest of the chairs.

“Shall we sit?” said Dean.

They did.

Zachariah picked up his beer bottle with two fingers and stared at it, before setting it down. He gave Cas an unimpressed look.

“It’s the fancy kind,” said Dean helpfully.

“I’m sure,” said Zachariah, in unveiled disgust. “And this, is, ah…” he poked at the burger with his fork. “Street food.”

“It’s a Kansas thing,” said Cas. Dean looked at Cas, perplexed. Cas shrugged in a ‘sorry, I’m on the spot’ type way.

“So Dean,” said Uriel, who was sitting to one side of him. “Tell us, what _are_ you talented at?”

“Cooking,” said Cas promptly. “You love cooking, right dear?”

“Sure,” said Uriel. “Anything else?” 

Dean faltered as _someone_ around the table started playing footsie with him. He hoped to god it was Cas, but he wasn’t sure Cas knew what that was. He moved his left foot to knock into Cas’s.

“Ow,” said Cas.

Okay, not Cas. “So about that promotion,” said Dean.

“Ah yes,” said Zachariah. “You were quite… _invested_ in that, weren’t you.”

Dean swore he could hear Uriel mutter something about a floozie. 

“So Castiel,” said Zachariah, picking up his fork and knife and cutting a slice out of his burger. He ate a bite, and it appeared it wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. “Now what skills do you think qualify you for this promotion?”

Castiel paused. “I’m hardworking,” he said at last, uncertainly. “And I have a mind of my own.”

“Now see,” Zachariah said, cutting another bite. “That’s not an asset. I’m trying to amass a company of worker bees.”

Cas nodded. Finally, something he understood. “Though I'm not currently female, I do have many things in common with worker bees," he said confidently.

Oh boy, thought Dean.

"For instance,” Cas continued, "I've always rather identified with a soldier bee, standing at the hive's entrance for much of her lifespan, watching out for predators and protecting those she chooses to serve. Of course—for favorites, honeybees are hard to beat, because, well, _honey_.” He smiled. "But I've also enjoyed watching Jataí. Their soldiers, especially the hovering guard. Although not as delightfully tranquil as the peaceful, nimble foragers and scouts, I truly admire her determination in fighting enemies much larger than herself, even knowing she's probably going to be crippled or gruesomely decapitated; unless, of course, she manages to go for the wings or antennae..." he continued on for a while, providing less and less context as he went. 

After some time, they realized Zachariah had been uncharacteristically quiet. They realized he was chocking.

“Zachariah,” said Uriel flatly, “stop it.”

Zachariah glared at Uriel.

“Stop it,” Uriel repeated.

Zachariah fell out of his chair.

“For goodness’ sake,” Uriel said, taking a bite of his burger.

“Help him,” Dean hissed at Cas, but unfortunately, Zachariah had already passed away.

Uriel patted his mouth with his napkin. “Well, this has been swell,” he said, getting up. “But I ought to hit the road. By the way,” he said to Castiel. “You have that promotion.” He looked down at Zachariah’s dead body, and smiled thinly. “As a matter of fact, so do I.” He left, nodding at them before closing the door behind him.

“So uh…” said Dean. “We gonna talk about that?”

“I think he choked to death on a burger,” Cas said.

“You don’t say,” said Dean. “Why didn’t you help him?”

“I was distracted,” Cas said defensively. “I was thinking about worker bees.”

“Well, I’m not gonna say he didn’t deserve it,” Dean admitted. “He was kind of a dick. ‘Course, now we have a body to get rid of.”

“We could dump him in Lover’s Lake.”

Dean nodded. “I’ll get my coat.”

They shoved Zach in the trunk of Dean’s Impala, driving by night to the lakeside. Crickets chirped. They dragged Zachariah out of the car and Cas gathered some stones, sticking them in Zachariah’s pockets in hopes that he would sink.

They tossed him in. There was a hollow splash, and then silence. Then suddenly, from the drifting ripples where they'd thrown the body, the colorless lake bubbled. The water grew thicker, darker, coagulating. Something, or many somethings, came writhing out of the water like ribbons of tar.

“Don’t do this,” Dean said, staring into the abyss. He didn’t know what it was, or what it meant, but it chilled him to the bone. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Dean,” said Cas, turning to face him. “We have to go.” He placed two fingers on Dean’s forehead. The screen glitched.

The couple sat across from each other at their table. The dessert Dean had prepared was laid out in front of them beside the vase of chrysanthemums.

“This was a great night,” said Dean, as the record continued to spin. 

_“Pure, pure air of air filled our atmosphere; but night makes stars of us all, until we fall, for everyone to see—”_

“I’m so glad you got that promotion,” said Dean, as they listened to the sound of Uriel’s car driving away outside. 

_“Well I wrap myself in cities I’ve traveled, I wrap myself in dreams; I wrap myself in strangers arms, but I wish I could wrap myself in thee.”_

“Me too,” said Cas, holding Dean’s hand. “And we even get to celebrate our anniversary.”  


The End

* * *

_Destiel will return next week: Same Super-Day, Same Super-Channel!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featured songs: 
> 
> [South Bound Saurez](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cLa1CyfAko0) by Led Zeppelin  
> [In Thee](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=75bQlq4ewng) by Blue Öyster Cult


	2. Episode 2: Watch Out

_You’re watching Destiel. The following program is brought to you by El Sol._

* * *

Zachariah’s body had washed up on the edge of Lover’s Lake. By the next day, the whole town had heard of his mysterious passing. Dean and Cas were hoping that within all this gossip they could keep a low profile. They were just trying to fit in, and it wasn’t their fault he he’d died anyhow. 

Most people were intrigued by what had happened. But it didn’t seem like anyone was particularly bummed about it. Especially Castiel’s coworkers.

Balthazar, Castiel’s friend from the parallel desk, and Gabriel, Balthazar’s pal from another department, had dragged Cas out for celebratory drinks at Lethe’s Bar, situated in the bustling center of downtown Arcadia.

“Well we all know,” said Gabriel in a tone of grave importance, “why we are gathered here today.” He lifted his drink into the air. “To celebrate the passing of the worst boss we ever had.”

“Hear, hear,” said Balthazar, lifting his drink as well. 

They’d been here for a while, and Balthazar sounded tipsy. “Hear hear,” added Cas, who was even more drunk.

“So clink a glass,” said Gabriel, “to dear Zach’s timely demise.”

They all clinked their glasses together. “Do you think…” said Castiel, when they had all quaffed, staring into his glass, “that what we’re doing here is insensitive?”

“The guy actively tried to make our lives miserable our entire career at Sandover,” said Balthazar. “I’m pretty sure he deserves it.”

Gabriel nodded. 

“I’ll agree with you there,” said Cas. “But, is it insensitive.”

“Yes,” said Gabriel. But we…” he waved his hand in the air, “don’t care. I say celebrate without shame. Ding, dong, the dick is dead!”

“I will drink to that!” Balthazar said, drinking, clinking his glass with Cas’, then realizing he’d done that in the wrong order and taking another drink.

“Well then,” said Castiel, “here’s to Zachariah being dead.”

Balthazar almost said they’d already toasted to that, but felt it was a good point, so took another drink.

“Here’s,” said Gabriel, “to whoever killed him.” They all nodded. 

“Here’s to whoever killed him,” Balthazar echoed.

“Here’s to my husband,” Castiel slurred.

_—hahahahahahahah._

Castiel walked home past the grey hedges, all pristinely trimmed, feeling rather happy with himself. But when he reached the house, he saw an unfamiliar automobile in the driveway. 

“That’s not our Baby,” Cas mumbled, confused. He stumbled through the door, bumping into the wall as he did. “Dean, there’s a car in our driveway and it’s not our child!” he announced, standing in the center of the living room.

“What child?” asked Dean, in wild alarm.

“Baby!” shouted Cas.

“Oh, Baby,” said Dean.

“Whose car is it,” Castiel said sternly.

“Well, uh…” Dean pointed at the two men sitting on the couch.

Castiel turned and looked at them. 

“Hello,” said one of the officers. “Arcadia police force,” they explained, taking out their badges.

“Ah,” said Cas knowingly. “That explains why the mystery car said ‘police’ on the side.” He nodded to Dean. “They’re police.”

_—hahahahahahahah._

“Thanks, Cas.”

“No problem,” said Cas, walking to Dean with a slight stumble, and putting an arm around him. Dean looked at him for a moment, before whispering, “are you drunk?”

“A little,” Cas admitted, before turning to the police. “What do you humans want?”

“My name is Officer Tom, and this is Officer Jerry, and we’re here about the death of your boss, Zachariah. I’m sure you’ve heard by now that his body washed up on the shore of Lovers Lake.” Cas exchanged a panicked look with Dean. Castiel noticed the police watching them, so to cover it up, he said, “Lovers Lake? I’ve never heard of it.”

“Well that paints you as mighty suspicious,” Jerry said, “because _everyone’s_ heard of Lover’s Lake.”

“Oh,” Cas improvised. “I thought you said… _Liver’s_ Lake.”

“Anyway,” said Dean, shoving Cas a little to try to get him to shut up. “That’s… _horrible_ about his boss really. We were so sad when we heard the news. What happened?” he asked.

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” said Tom. “According to rumor, the last time Zachariah was seen alive, he was heading to dinner.” The policeman got up and looked hard at Dean. “Here. —Did you see Zachariah last night?”

“We ahh… we did, yes. He came here with Uriel to discuss my husband’s promotion at work, and we had dinner, and then the two of them left together; Zachariah and Uriel, who as most people are aware of, were married, though they didn’t talk about it much, so it’s highly likely that they may have driven by Lover’s Lake after they left and I wouldn’t guess what happened. Maybe you should ask Uriel about it.”

“We’re already following up on multiple leads,” the police said. “You don’t have to worry about Uriel. What we want to know about is you.”

“In that case,” said Castiel. “This is my husband,” he said. “Dean Winchester. I am Castiel. Our house is located here. I just got promoted. My husband loves pies, and I’m currently on a bender. But,” he added, “I didn’t drive.”

_—hahahahahahahah._

“Have you and your husband ever been to Lovers Lake?” Jerry asked.

“That’s an awfully personal question,” Cas said, offended. “Why do you ask?”

Dean put his head in his hand.

“Because… that’s where Zachariah was found.”

“Oh,” said Cas. “My boss. The dead one.”

“Yes.”

“As you can see,” said Dean, “Cas doesn’t have anything to tell you that I haven’t already said.” He stared hard at Cas and hissed, “right, Cas?”

“Oh,” said Cas. He nodded. “Ri-i-i-ght.”

The police looked rather suspicious, but left soon enough, leaving a business card behind. It said “911” on it. “Call us if you find anything,” they said. 

* * *

Later that afternoon, when Cas was sitting in the living room and feeling rather unfortunate, as he was suffering from a hangover, someone knocked on the door. It was Hannah and Samandriel. 

“Hey, Castiel,” said Samandriel. “We’re here to ask if you want to join the Neighborhood Watch. It’s an organization we’ve created to deal with the rampant crime these days. After all, none of us want to get attacked and brutally killed like Zachariah!” he said. He grinned. “Want to join?”

“What are we supposed to watch?” Cas asked, intrigued. He was very good at watching things. His sleeping husband. The television. Bees.

“Suspicious activity,” Hannah explained, walking into the house. Samandriel peered into the kitchen.

“From who,” Castiel asked.

“That’s the question, isn’t it,” Hannah said, turning and looking Castiel in the eye. “You’ll know it when you see it, I’m sure.” Samandriel walked back into the living room and began to lift up all the seat cushions. He paused when he saw an ivory-handled gun under one of them.

“That’s my husband’s,” Cas explained. “He keeps it for intruders.”

“Oh,” Samandriel said, putting the pillow back gingerly.

“Well, see you around!” Hannah said, handing Cas a brochure. It said “Watch Out” in big red... in big letters, with a picture of an open mouth filled with a million fangs and forked tongue. Castiel stared at it. When Samandriel and Hannah had gone, he shoved it under the cushion he was sitting on. He didn’t like the look of that brochure one bit. It gave him a stomach ache.

That afternoon, the town of Arcadia was putting on a charity show. Castiel was doing card tricks, which he was very good at. They weren’t exactly scintillating for the audience, since only one person could take part at a time, and Castiel had chosen tricks that were all at least five minutes long. Also, he performed them in very concentrated silence. 

Dean filled the time by gossiping with Anna Milton and Betty about what Anna had discovered over the phone line. Anna was a telephone operator, so she could discover a lot of things. 

Anna was just telling them about Uriel having called up a party planning service that morning, and Betty was just wondering if Uriel was as glad that Zachariah was dead as everyone else, when Dean noticed the red flash of a Jack of Hearts in Castiel’s hands. It was so quick he almost missed it, and when he blinked and looked again, it was as monochrome as everything else. Dean swallowed, uncomfortable. Suddenly he was thinking about magic, and wondering why these tricks were reminding him of his brother, a successful lawyer who hadn’t tried a single magic trick since middle school. It occurred to Dean that he hadn’t talked to Sam in a while. 

“Hey Cas,” Dean said, as they walked home on another fine evening, with perfect air and a perfect sky fading to a gentle sunset, “you didn’t notice anything weird happen during your magic tricks, did you?”

“No,” Castiel said, confused. So Dean dropped the matter. But when he got home he called Sam’s number.

“Heya, Sam,” Dean said, grinning. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it.”

“Dean,” Sam said, very seriously, “can you hear me? Dean, I need you to…” his voice cut off in a burst of static, and a tinny song played through the line, so distorted he could barely make out the words. _“Why should I be frightened of dying? There’s no reason for it, you’ve gotta go sometime…”_ Dean stared at the receiver. “Sam?” he said. “Sammy?” The song cut out, leaving only silence. He put the phone back, feeling spooked, and walked into the kitchen, where he decided on a whim that the only thing to do was bake some apple pie.

While the pie was in the oven, Dean wandered into the living room and saw, through the window, Cas sitting up in their tree. He stared. He wasn’t sure at first, but yes, that really was Cas sitting up in their tree. Dean opened the window. “Hey Cas,” he said. “What are you doing up there?”

“Watching,” said Cas seriously. He picked a stray leaf out of his hair. “So far I found a family of woodpeckers.” He paused. “It’s concerning, since it implies there’s a fault in this tree we haven’t noticed. But I haven’t seen any suspicious characters.”

The oven timer dinged. Dean rushed back into the kitchen and grabbed some pot holders. Soon, the pie was out of the oven, crisp and smelling utterly delicious. He cut himself a large slice, apples with their curling red peels— grey peels. Dean shook his head. “What the hell is going on here?” he said. “This is some Pleasantville shit.” The moment he said it, he began to notice how odd this house was. Not because it was odd, but because it was normal. He hadn’t lived in a house like this since Lisa. Why _was_ everything black and white, anyway? And why did this all suddenly feel as fake as an old TV sitcom? It was like there was something horrible right at the edge of his mind, if he could just remember what it was. Something Sam was trying to warn him about. A Djinn dream? Castiel walked into the kitchen absently, shaking acorns out of his pockets. A genie? A Jeannie, perhaps. He’d always had a thing for Barbara Eden. But even she seemed to pale beside the literal angel standing by the kitchen table, glancing over at him with a small smile. “Hello, Dean,” Cas said.

For some reason, Dean found tears rising in his eyes. “Hey Cas,” he said. “If something… bad happened… you wouldn’t leave me, right?”

Cas tilted his head. “Of course not, Dean.”

“Even if you thought it was for my own good?”

Cas fell silent, thinking hard. Dean found himself suddenly unwilling to listen to whatever answer Cas was going to give, and stepped up, giving his angel a kiss. _Nothing is wrong_ , he told himself. And the more heated the kiss became, the more he forgot about genies and red apples and the conversation he’d had with Sam, and everything became realer and realer again. The pie sitting uneaten on the table, the lace curtains in the window, the small town of Arcadia where nothing bad ever happened, where you didn’t have to watch out for a monster under the bed.

In fact, it took some time, but eventually Dean and Cas found themselves up in the bedroom, on their twin beds that they’d pushed together when they’d moved in.

“I love you,” Dean said. “I love you too, you know that right, Cas?”

“Of course I do,” said Cas.

“Good,” said Dean.

This life—this completely real, utterly ordinary life—was his, somehow. And it didn’t matter how he’d gotten so lucky, he was going to hold onto it with everything he had.

_The End_

* * *

_Destiel will return next week: Same Super-Day, Same Super-Channel!_

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featured Song:
> 
> [The Great Gig in the Sky](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cVBCE3gaNxc) by Pink Floyd


	3. Episode 3: The Pizza Man

_You’re watching Destiel. The following program is brought to you by El Sol._

* * *

“Honey, have you seen my coat?” asked Cas.

“Do you really need it today? It’s like 90 degrees out.”

“Dean, my trench coat is important.”

“I know, I know,” Dean groaned, hiding his face in his pillow. “It’s probably in that pile of stuff we threw on the floor last night.”

Cas sighed before getting out of bed, putting on his suit. Dean dragged himself out of bed too, picking out a sweater vest and getting dressed, before looking under the bed for the missing coat. It was empty down there, except for a stray copy of _ONE_ magazine.

“I can’t find it,” Cas said, in a tone of rising concern.

Dean sighed, pulling his head out from under the bed. “Don’t you think you could go without it, just once? We were supposed to meet Betty five minutes ago, she’s probably waiting outside.”

“Betty’s already waited five minutes, she can wait five more!” said Cas grumpily, looking through the sock drawer like his coat might have been hiding inside. Dean looked around the room. “Well, it’s nowhere here, I don’t know where it could—” he stopped short, looking up toward the ceiling, where Cas’ trench coat was hanging from the ceiling fan. 

Cas followed his gaze.

“Huh,” Dean said. “That went far.”

Castiel climbed onto the bed and reached up to grab his coat before putting it on, smoothing it down with a contented smile. 

“You’re such a dork,” Dean teased.

Cas walked toward the door, Dean looking after him with an endeared smile. 

_—Awwwwwww_. 

When Cas reached the door, he paused, realizing Dean wasn’t following. He turned around impatiently. “Dean,” he said. “Hurry up. We’re late.”

They were locking up the house when Betty came rushing down the sidewalk. “Sorry I’m late!” she called. “I must’ve kept you two waiting!”

“Oh, it’s fine, Betty, really,” said Dean, glancing over at Cas. “It happens.” He grinned. “We’ve just been chilling here,” he lied, “but it’s fine.”

Betty turned and pointed over her shoulder at the empty house across the street. “I don’t suppose you’ve peeked over there?”

“No,” Cas said, in excitement, turning. “Is there something to watch?” He knew this was important, since he’d recently joined the Neighborhood Watch. Dean grabbed his tie and faced him back around to Betty, though Cas still sneaked in a squinting glance over his shoulder at the big sign that said “SOLD” next to Betty’s house.

“I hear the new owner’s moving in today! Not sure when but I’m certainly curious what they’re like.”

“Well, we haven’t noticed anything,” said Dean.

“Hmm, unfortunate,” said Betty. She clapped her hands. “Well, we should get going. Those bachelors aren’t going to sell themselves!”

As they walked down the sidewalk, Cas said, “remind me again why we’re auctioning off unmarried members of the community?”

“For charity!” said Betty.

Cas thought about that for a moment. “Ah,” he replied.

“There’s a lot of lookers in this town; why not use that to improve our community’s standard of living?” Betty said. She turned to Dean. “Thanks, Dean, for agreeing to help the neighborhood board set this up.”

“Any time,” Dean said. Betty hurried on ahead, and when she was out of earshot, Cas turned to speak to Dean in a hushed tone. “Why _did_ you help set this up?”

Dean shrugged. “I was trying to make friends. You joined the Neighborhood Watch, I wanted to join a community thing too! —besides, Betty wouldn’t stop badgering me about it.”

They got to the park, where there was a little stage made of the gazebo, and some bright white and off-white banners in cheerful stripes. Betty, Dean, and Cas went behind the curtain. There were a few people milling around backstage. Anna gave Dean a cheerful wave.

“Hey, what’s the progress?” Dean asked.

“The names of all the bachelors who entered should be in there,” Anna said, pointing to a cup. “The audience is all set up, bachelors on one side, bidders on the other, and,” she checked her watch, “we’re just about ready for you, Betty. Betty smiled brightly. “Here I go,” she said. She scooped up the fancy crystal cup and sashayed on stage. “All right,” she announced, tapping the mic. “Thank you all for coming to Arcadia’s annual charity bachelor auction in the park. When I read a name off these papers,” she said, gesturing to them, “I want that fella to come up here to the stage. Then I want you all to call out bids in an orderly fashion. Whoever bids the most gets to spend the whole day with their man! All proceeds improve the community, so don’t be cheap, y’all!” Someone backstage played a drumroll, and she picked out the first name.

“Herbert Frenklstein. Get on up here, Herb!”

Herb walked onstage, smiling and waving at the clapping ladies and gents.

From backstage, Dean, Anna, and Cas were peering through the curtains and rating Herb’s hotness factor. Well, Dean and Anna were. “I’d say he’s a five,” said Anna.

“Five?” asked Dean. “Nah, he’s at least a six.”

“A six what?” asked Cas.

“Ehh, nothing,” said Dean, waving his hand. 

“We’re rating how cute they are,” Anna said.

“How does the scale work?” Cas asked.

“One to ten,” Dean said. “One is—oh dear god no; ten is—oh dear god yes and I never want to look away.”

“Ah,” said Cas. “I think you’re a ten.”

“Thank you,” Dean said, nodding and winking at Cas. “I know.”

“Ooh! Next guy’s up,” said Anna. “Eight, definitely.”

“Eight?” Dean said. He furrowed his brow. “You know, I might concur. He does look like an eight.” They tilted their heads, smiling.

Cas was thinking deeply. “What am I?” he wondered to himself.

Dean looked over at him for a moment, then grinned. “Eleven,” he said. 

“But I thought…?” Cas started.

“Next up,” Betty announced, unfolding her piece of paper, “is…” she laughed nervously, and glanced backstage at the three. 

“Read it!” Anna hissed.

“Ahh,” Betty cleared her throat. “Our next gentleman is… Dean Winchester?” she said, faltering, glancing over her shoulder again.

Dean pointed to himself with a questioning expression. Betty nodded. Dean looked at Cas, who squinted at him. Dean looked back at Betty, who gestured for him to step onstage, then back at Cas, who crossed his arms and stared. Then, stepping forward, Cas put a hand on his shoulder, his pale eyes boring into Dean’s. “DEAN, did you put your name in the goblet of bachelors?” Castiel asked calmly.

“What? No! Someone must’ve tampered with the names!”

“This is just great,” said Cas, taking his hand from Dean’s shoulder. “Now they’re all waiting for you.”

“Well, she can just,” Dean caught Betty’s eyes, “skip to the next name.”

“That’s highly unprofessional,” Cas said. “You’re _running_ this, you can’t just put your name in the goblet and then not go onstage.”

“Wait—you want me to go out there?”

“ _Want_ is a strong word, but considering the situation we’ve somehow found ourselves in, I don’t mind. And anyway, it’s not like I think you’re gonna move onto someone else. After all,” he added, grinning dorkily, “I’m an eleven.”

“Yup,” Dean said, “off the charts.” He gave Cas a peck on the lips before going onstage.

_—Awwwwwww_. 

Onstage, Betty gave Dean a side-eyed look, as did some people in the audience who recognized him and whispered to each other, while others oohed and ached.

“99 cents!” said a woman in the first row.

“Two dollars,” yelled a woman in the back.

“Five,” yelled another.

“Ten,” said another.

The bidding heated up to twenty-five dollars, and Betty was impressed. “Well, that’s the highest bid we’ve gotten today! Going once, going twice—”

A figure in a dark coat stood up in the bidder’s section, placing the final bid in a purposeful English accent. “One grand.”

Betty sputtered, and Dean blinked a few times. Backstage, Anna and Cas looked at each other, then back to the stage.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” Betty asked.

“I said,” the man said, walking up the aisle between the seats. “One grand.” He put down the briefcase he was carrying and opened it.

“Holy—” Dean said under his breath.

“Um… sold,” Betty said. “To the British man.” She waved Dean off in a hurry, ran over and grabbed the case like she was afraid the mysterious man might try to take it back. As Dean passed Betty she said quietly, “you’re certainly a moneymaker!”

“Wow,” said Dean, greeting the devilish stranger. “Uh, Dean.” He held out his hand.

“Crowley,” said Crowley, shaking it. “And it looks like you… are mine for the day. Come on,” he said, walking away from the auction. Dean looked around a bit helplessly, at Cas who was peering from the back of the stage like a really lousy super spy, then followed his date away.

“Guess you won’t be seeing him for the rest of the day,” Anna said.

“That man really, _really_ wanted a date with my husband,” Cas said. 

“Not jealous?” Anna teased.

“Of course not,” Cas said. “I’m an eleven. Eleven,” he reminded himself.

Anna put a hand on his arm. “You’ve got nothing to worry about,” she said seriously, then smirked at him. “That guy was like a four. —If you want, we can hang out the rest of the day and I can catch you up on the new phone-line gossip.”

“No,” Cas said, “I think I’ll just go home, and… wait.” He strode off purposefully.

Cas was about to walk up to his front door when he noticed a woman at the newly-sold house. She was wearing slacks and a sleeveless shirt, and was unloading a box from her car. “Hey neighbor,” she said. “Sorry, I’d wave, but,” she lifted the box toward him.

“Hello,” Cas said. He saw her balancing the box while she tried to open her door. “Would you like some help?”

“Oh, thank you,” she said. Cas took one side of the box, and together they carried it into the house. They put it down next to some unassembled IKEA furniture. “Thanks a bunch. Lucky me, moving in next to a little angel,” she added. “Meg, by the way.”

Castiel nodded. “ _Castiel_. Uh– Cas.”

She smiled at him slowly, and after a moment he smiled back.

“I don’t know if you’ve got somewhere else to be,” Meg said. “But I could use a hand unpacking all this stuff.”

“Actually, there’s nowhere I have to be,” Cas said. “I’ve found my whole schedule unexpectedly clear.”

Meanwhile, Dean and Crowley were standing at the golf course, looking out at the vibrant field of grey grass. “I’m gonna take a wild guess and say you’re the one who sneaked my name into the goblet?” Dean said drily. Crowley looked over at him, raising his eyebrow.

“How’d you guess?”

“Well, no one else would’ve done it. Plus, the piles of money kind of gave it away. If you wanted to be subtle you should’ve bid lower.”

Crowley shrugged. “How do you know the money was for you? Maybe I’m just very charitable.”

Dean chuckled. “What are you anyway, a foreign businessman?” he asked, as he took out their golf clubs.

“Something like that,” Crowley said with a small smile. “Right now, I’m a businessman who wants to play golf with my date.”

Dean nodded. “Just so we’re clear,” he said, gesturing, “you do know I’m married, right?”

“Yes,” said Crowley, “and a right shame, too. Would’ve loved to do this again sometime.”

* * *

After a long day during which Cas helped Meg move in, assemble, and locate her furniture and assorted belongings, both Meg and Cas were tired out. It was hot, and even hotter in the house. Cas had caved a few hours ago and taken off his trenchcoat, which was strewn on Meg’s sofa, and they were sitting on the floor under the continual turn of the ceiling fan, which blew barely-cooler air down into the room. 

“You’ve been such a sweetheart about all this,” Meg said at last. “If my kitchen was stocked up I’d offer you somethin’ to eat.”

“It’s fine,” Cas replied. “Say,” he said after a moment. “How about I order us some pizza?”

“I’d call that a miracle,” Meg said. 

Soon enough the pizza had arrived. They saw the pizza man arriving through the front windows, which didn’t have curtains yet, and got up to answer the door. 

“Please, Meg,” Cas said. “Let me pay.”

“Not a chance, Clarence,” Meg said. “You’ve helped me too much today already.” She handed the pizza man a few bills while Cas took the box of pizza and nodded in thanks. 

The pizza man watched them as they closed the door, and had a few thoughts of his own. But he took his money and set off back to the pizza joint.

When the pizza man got back, he started talking to his coworker in kitchen, looking into the main room where Dean and Crowley were eating.

“You see that guy over there on the date?” he inquired.

The pizza man didn’t notice, but Dean, who was barely paying attention to what Crowley was jabbering on about, heard the low voices talking about him.

“Winchester, right? The one whose name accidentally got called at the bachelor auction?

“Yeah?”

“I think his husband might’ve been the one that put his name in,” the pizza man said.

“Why?”

“To get him out of the way. I just delivered a pizza to that Castiel, he was hanging out with this doll who moved in next door.”

“No way. And he ordered in for the two of them?”

“Yup. When I got there he was all dressed down. Never seen him without that trench coat before. That and his suit jacket were all over the floor, he had his sleeves rolled up, and it certainly looked like they’d had some kinda workout.”

“An’ this poor sucker doesn’t know about it,” the other man said. They both looked over at Dean in pitying fascination.

Dean sat there staring straight over Crowley’s shoulder, trying not to let on he’d heard, but he’d heard all right, and he couldn’t believe it. His glass of water in his hand was shaking.

“Well, if it’s gonna be that way, maybe he should try to get something outta this date for _himself_ ,” the other pizza man said suggestively.

Dean put down his glass with a bang, and the two pizza men jumped and scurried further away out of sight.

“You know what, Crowley?” he said, interrupting Crowley’s latest description about the new trick his favorite dog had learned yesterday, “this has been nice, but I’m going home.”

“Oh, so soon?” Crowley asked.

“Yeah,” Dean said tightly. “Sorry.”

“Well, all right then,” Crowley said, a little wistfully. “Let me drive you home at least, it’s far to walk.”

For a moment Dean considered against it; maybe walking would clear his head, but part of him just wanted to get home as fast as possible and see what was going on with his own eyes. Surely Cas hadn’t really— no. He wouldn’t. But that pizza man had awfully sure.

* * *

When Dean got back, Cas was already home, and he opened the door when he saw Crowley’s car pulling up outside.

“Everything all right?” Crowley asked in a low voice, putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder, as Dean stared at the open doorway, his gut churning. Crowley sounded interested, but also a bit worried. He wasn’t that bad a guy, really, Dean thought; he could picture being friends with the dude, and if he hadn’t overheard what he did, he probably would’ve stayed for the whole dinner. Maybe even dessert.

“Yeah,” Dean said, looking over at him and trying to seem reassuring, like he wasn’t afraid his marriage was falling apart under him. He smiled. “Yeah, just peachy. Thanks for the date.”

“Any time,” Crowley said. When he’d finally left, Dean walked toward the doorway. He wanted to be civil and give Cas a chance to explain; he was gonna be reasonable about all this. “Dean, I’m glad you’re back,” Cas started. Dean breezed past him into the house.

“So, it looks like you’ve been having fun today,” he said, wheeling around to face him.

“I suppose so,” Cas said. “It was rather tiring. I met a woman named Meg—”

“Oh, I know.”

Cas tilted his head. “You know?”

“The gossip was all over the joint,” Dean said. “My husband ordering some pizza to the house across the street. Where he spent the day with a woman. Seems like the two of you were very friendly. Your sleeves were rolled up… and you _weren’t wearing your trenchcoat_.”

The line was damning, and they both knew it. For a moment Cas only stared at him, unable to think of a reply 

“It got very hot. And bothersome.”

“I’m sure it did.”

Cas looked at him, realizing what Dean was insinuating. Dean might’ve started the argument, but Cas knew very well how to carry it, and he was starting to get annoyed. After all, he was the one who’d been abandoned first. “Well what about you, Dean. I was participating in a charitable act for my neighbor while you were off gallivanting—”

“I’m sorry, gallivanting?”

“ _Gallivanting_ with a man who bought you for one grand!”

“It was a _benefit auction!!_ ”

Cas considered this for a moment, then nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Of course you were also participating in an act of charity. Still, it doesn’t explain how friendly he was when you got home. Opening the door of the car for you?”

“He was just trying to be polite.”

“And standing right next to you? His hand on your shoulder? I found that very suspicious.”

“Look, he was a little touchy. I get it. But I only found it annoying. I mean, when I was putting, he sneaks up behind me, puts his arms around me, puts his hand on my shaft and I end up coming over the top!” Dean remembered this with a scandalized look on his face, shaking his head. “And then he tried to act like he hadn’t cheated!”

“Maybe _he_ didn’t,” Cas said darkly. 

“What?” Dean said. His eyes widened as he thought over what he’d just said. “My—my golf, my golf stick! Dammit Cas that’s what they’re called! It was just golf!”

“A likely story,” Cas said, looking hurt.

“And what about you, huh? What were you doing?”

“We were just moving furniture around.”

“Moving furni—wow Cas.”

“What? Her house needed decor.”

“Sure, sure. Then let me guess, you got a little sidetracked and it ended up taking _all day_?”

“Well it _did_ take longer than expected,” Cas admitted. “We had to get on the floor to erect the wood, and there was a lot of screwing involved.”

“Oh, screwing, sure,” Dean said pointedly, crossing his arms.

“With screwdrivers!”

“Sounds painful.” 

Cas sighed heavily and tried to explain. “We were assembling furniture from this company called IKEA. They make you put the pieces together yourself, so we were sitting there putting together all these wooden bits, trying to screw them in place, in little holes, attempting to make everything structurally sound. It was very, very complicated.”

“Oh… Right, okay then,” Dean said, uncrossing his arms. “Well uh. Crowley and I were just playing golf.”

They both nodded in mutual understanding and said, in unison, “and then we ordered pizza.”

“You know,” Dean suggested, breaking an uncomfortable silence. “Maybe I can finish up that date of mine… with you. If… if you want.”

Cas nodded in agreement. “I would like that.” 

They went into the kitchen, and Dean took some ice cream out of the fridge. They started making Ice Cream Sundaes together, Dean arranging everything in the bowls, Cas sprinkling on toppings.

“I’m sorry I was quick to doubt you,” said Castiel, placing a maraschino cherry on the center of each sundae.

“It’s alright,” said Dean. “Gosh, _I’m_ the one that should be sorry. I shoulda trusted you, no matter what the pizza man said.” He smiled at Cas, stepping forward and hugging him tightly. For a long moment they didn’t move, just happy to be together.

“You know,” whispered Castiel, “your date may have had you for a day, but I’m the luckiest man alive to have you forever.” He turned his head to meet Dean’s eyes. “And I never want to look away.”

_The End_

* * *

_Destiel will return next week: Same Super-Day, Same Super-Channel!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featured Items:
> 
> ONE Magazine, published from 1953 to 1967, was the first pro-gay magazine in America.  
> See some archives of [ONE covers!](https://one.usc.edu/archive-location/one-magazine)


	4. Episode 4: The Stork

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a little late, lol... but we're here with the next chapter!
> 
> We're kind of busy at the moment so we might not get the next chapter posted by next week, but it's planned out and we're super excited for what we've got in store... :)

_You’re watching Destiel. The following program is brought to you by El Sol._

* * *

It was early morning in the Winchester household. Dean and Cas were kissing in the kitchen, where warm light filtered through the window, content in each others’ arms.

“I’m gonna be late for work,” Cas said at last, pulling away.

“…Right,” Dean sighed. They walked out into the living room, but as they passed the threshold, Dean redirected Cas to lean against the wall. They lingered there for a while, kissing again, until Dean broke for air, noticing the sunburst clock above Cas’ head.

“You’re gonna be late for work,” he said, regretfully.

“Yes,” Cas agreed, and they walked slowly forward, still holding one another, aiming for the front door but getting sidetracked onto the couch, where they spent a few more rapturous moments.

“I don’t want to go to work today,” Cas said at last.

“I don’t _want_ you to go to work today,” Dean said.

“I have to,” Cas said.

“You get days off,” Dean pointed out, kissing him again.

“Sick days,” Cas reminded him seriously. “I’m not sick.”

“Remember what I told you? When humans really want something—”

“You lie,” Cas said. “I know.” He kissed Dean again. “But I can’t. I just got promoted.”

Cas began sliding off the couch, but Dean grabbed his arm before he could.

“Wait,” Dean said, in a rushed voice, a bit uncertain, “you can’t leave.”

Cas furrowed his brow. “Why not?”

“…I’m pregnant.”

The shot zoomed out to reveal that somehow, while no one was paying attention, this had, in fact, come to pass.

“…How?” Cas asked.

“I don’t know,” Dean replied, distressed.

Cas put a hand on Dean’s stomach, concentrating for a moment before donning a look of surprise. “It looks like you’re already in your second trimester. That’s concerning.”

“ _That’s_ what you find concerning about this?!” Dean yelled.

“Dean, calm down—”

“Calm down? How the hell am I supposed to calm down?”

Cas thought for a moment. “Look, maybe this… isn’t a bad thing, Dean. I mean, haven’t you ever dreamed of starting a family together?”

“I—I guess, yeah. Maybe I have,” Dean admitted, “but this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind! I’m a _guy_ , Cas, this shouldn’t be possible!”

“That’s true,” said Cas. “It’s somewhat of a miracle.” His eyes widened at that realization. “Dean…” Cas said, staring at his husband in breathless awe, “you’re like the Virgin Mary.”

Dean looked Cas straight in the eye. Cas stared back. The clock on the wall ticked past second by second, as Dean’s expression changed from panic to incredulity to a formidable, very settled annoyance. “Ok, fudge this, I’m out,” he said. “We are _not_ doing this plot line.”

And the scene glitched, leaving no evidence of concerning miracles. Instead, Dean and Cas had made it off the couch. “I really need to go,” Cas said, as they parted from a kiss.

“I know,” Dean said, opening the front door. Cas smiled, pecking Dean on the cheek before slipping outside. The door swung closed behind him, shutting with a click. Dean turned to survey the living room. “Well,” he said, “guess it’s just me then.”

* * *

When Cas arrived at work, he hurried through the endless white rooms toward his desk, hoping to get there before anyone noticed his tardiness. Unfortunately, someone stepped out of a room right into his path.

“Castiel,” said Uriel, smiling thinly. “Glad you could make it.”

“Oh…” said Cas, trying not to sound guilty. “Uriel. I was just looking for you.”

“Got lost in the stairwell? That certainly bodes well for your promotion,” Uriel said. “Speaking of which,” he handed him a pile of papers, “we need you to sign these.”

“Of course,” said Cas, taking the stack and trying to keep it upright. “If you don’t mind me asking, in my previous job, I also signed papers. I don’t suppose I’ll be doing anything in addition to that now?”

“No, I don’t suppose you will,” said Uriel.

“Right,” said Cas. “So—my desk—”

“Right where you left it.”

“I haven’t been moved to another department?”

“No, you haven’t.”

“So has _anything_ changed because of this new position?”

Uriel gave him a look. “There’s an extra zero on your paycheck. Now get to work before I take it away again. You’re late.”

“My apologies,” Cas said, turning to walk away, before stopping and looking back at Uriel. “About Zachariah—I just wanted to—”

“—see if I told the police that your husband’s burger killed him? I haven’t. But don’t push your luck.”

Cas shifted uncertainly. “…I was going to give you my condolences.”

“Don’t pretend you care,” Uriel said. “We all know he was a dick to you.”

Cas nodded, with a little shrug. “I suppose he was,” he admitted. He squinted at Uriel questioningly. “Do _you_ care? We heard you threw a party—and, of course, you got promoted yourself.”

Uriel looked at him curiously. “Oh _Castiel_ ,” he said. “To insinuate such a thing. And here you seemed like such a stand-up fellow.”

“I am,” Castiel said, confused.

“Perhaps a stand-up fellow… with potential,” Uriel mused, as he walked away.

* * *

When Cas got to his desk he set down his giant stack of papers. Balthazar shot him a look that said ‘better you than me’ and grinned at him. “Promotion’s a bitch, I see,” he said.

Cas gave him a dour look and sat down with a weary exhale. After a second, he said, looking straight ahead, “I thought moving up in the world would cause things to make more sense. Or at least be more interesting.”

“What’s not making sense, mate?” said Balthazar, sorting files on his desk. “Besides our very existence?”

“These papers,” Cas said, gesturing to them. “Why do I sign these papers every day?” he asked as he began to straighten them.

“It’s in your job description,” Balthazar said. “If you don’t like it, quit.”

“It’s not that easy,” Cas said. “I have a husband to support. And a house to pay mortgage on. And food to buy that I don’t eat!”

_—hahahahahahahah._

“You could work somewhere else.”

“Why would I quit when I just got a promotion?” Cas asked. 

“Whatever,” said Balthazar. “Speaking of workplace annoyances, Uriel walked past me today…”

“And?”

“And nothing. It was just annoying. The amount of time he strolls through here like a watchdog, as if he’s worried we’re slacking off!” Balthazar said, leaning back, legs crossed on his desk, opening a tin of peanuts and popping a few in his mouth.

“I can’t imagine why he’d be worried about that,” Cas said drily.

“Oh you’re one to talk. Whadda you sign, one contract an hour?”

Cas looked down at his desk and continued straightening his papers. “That’s because we spend most of our time talking to each other.”

Uriel took that moment to stroll into the room, upon which Balthazar took his feet off the desk and Cas began signing documents. As soon as Uriel exited, Balthazar turned toward Cas and winked.

Signing contracts was so tedious, Cas thought. What were these contracts for? Why was he signing them? He didn’t even know what they said, too much fine print to take in at a glance.

But today, for the first time, words were beginning to pop up on the edge of the page. Cas looked down, and noticed that a few words were quite clear to him, in fact they seemed to take up more space than they really should. “True happiness,” it said. Cas looked at the sheet quizzically, for a moment, signed his name at the bottom , and placed it to the side. He grabbed the next paper, another phrase dripping out from a sea of illegible text. “Shall forthwith be detained for eternity.”

Cas felt an uneasy feeling in his stomach as he raised his pen and slowly signed his name, placing it on top of his previous contract. He grabbed another sheet.

On the middle of the page, staring back at him, it said, “No take backs, no tricks.”

Cas stared at it, his pen poised above the dotted line. The words bored into him. How can I sign this, he thought.

“You know,” Balthazar said, breaking the silence. “What you were saying earlier, I guess it makes sense. I mean, this job kinda sucks for all of us. But it does make a living. An’ I mean—you’re doing it for your family, right? Guess I can respect that.”

“Right,” Cas said, still staring down. “For my family.”

He signed.

* * *

Dean was at home, vacuuming the living room, humming _Hey Jude_ , when his vacuum hit something under a chair. He turned it off and crouched on the floor, peered under the chair to see what the problem was.

It was a pear.

Dean picked it up, confused, and dropped it into the empty fruit bowl on the coffee table. “Huh,” he said. “I don’t remember putting that there.” Things being where they shouldn’t was always a bad sign. Before he’d moved here it would’ve made him think there was a ghost at work, but somehow Dean knew that wasn’t a problem in Arcadia.

He dragged the vacuum upstairs.

When he’d finished vacuuming, Dean looked around and frowned. There was still dust on the bedside table. He went and got a duster, and started dusting around a photo of him and Cas. He picked up the photo next to it, one of him and Baby, and dusted under it. Then Dean picked up the photo of him and Cas and found to his surprise that there was a papaya behind it that _definitely_ hadn’t been there before.

Dean picked it up. “Okay seriously, where is all this fruit coming from?” he asked. He walked out of the room toward the stairs, passing the guest room on the way. As he did, he noticed something odd. Dean walked into the sad-looking room, glancing around. It was painted plain white and was quite empty except for the one anomaly that had drawn his notice. Something on the window sill.

Dean approached it slowly, narrowing his eyes.

“Okay, what’s the idea?” he said.

The grapefruit didn’t answer.

Dean sighed and grabbed it, then left the room, papaya in one hand, grapefruit in the other, and went downstairs to put the fruit into its bowl.

* * *

“These are stressful,” said Cas, flatly, putting down another contract. “I’m going to take a break.” He got up. “I’ll just be a minute.”

“I’ll cover for you if Uriel comes back,” Balthazar said.

“Thanks.” Cas nodded at him with a little smile then left the room, walking through the hallways and taking a deep breath. It felt good. He walked a little ways, but then heard Uriel’s voice coming from around the corner. Looking around in panic, Cas jumped quickly into the supply closet and shut the door behind him.

In the hall, Uriel was talking to someone. “No one suspects anything,” he said smoothly.

The other person answered, “that’s all well and good, but we need a report: how’s it going.”

“We really shouldn’t talk about this here. My office is right down the hall.”

“Fine.” The footsteps trailed away. Cas was a bit concerned. He left the closet and sneaked down the hall. “What is he up too?” he muttered. Cas kneeled down and looked through the keyhole of Uriel’s office. Inside, Uriel was offering a drink to a man with eyes that shone disturbingly yellow in the sunlight.

“This takeover’s not going to be easy,” said the man with the yellow eyes.

“Azazel, you worry too much,” said Uriel.

“You see, I think I worry _just_ enough,” said Azazel. “Because apparently, I’m worrying for the both of us. The most important part of any scheme is insurance—and you don’t seem to have enough. So tell me, what exactly is your protocol if anyone gets wind of what we’re up to? Are you prepared to do what needs to be done?”

“Anyone who finds out, who is loyal to Sandover,” said Uriel, “will be eliminated. You shouldn’t have to ask how far I’m willing to take this for the cause. You heard what happened to my husband, didn’t you?”

Azazel hmmed. “Point taken.” He put down his glass. “By the way, if you happen to run across any bright up and comers—a new generation of recruits—send them over. We could use all the men we can get on this.”

Uriel laughed wryly. “Is the Essential Venue for Integrated Labefaction understaffed?”

“Funny,” Azazel said, walking toward the door. Castiel was frozen for a moment in shock, then started to dart away, careening right into a janitor’s cart. Everything went flying. Cas tried to catch himself but banged into the edge of the cart and scraped his hand.

“Watch it, man!” snapped the janitor.

At that moment Azazel came outside, looked down at the scene and muttered to himself, “what a dump,” before walking away.

The janitor, picking up his stuff, gave Cas a nasty eye. “Watch where you’re going,” he said. Cas winced down at his hand as he stood up, and then stopped short—there was a red cut on his hand. He looked at it, confused.

“What the…?” he rubbed the blood off onto his suit, and looked at the grey stain it left behind. But on his hand, the fresh blood was still a brilliant red. Cas walked back into his office, staring at his hand.

“Balthazar,” he said.

“Hold on, Anna,” Balthazar said, taking the phone from his ear.

“What is this?” Cas said, showing Balthazar his hand, with the red blood on it. Balthazar looked at his palm. From his point of view, the shot was simple and ordinary: everything ubiquitously black and white.

“Nasty that,” he said.

“But the blood…” Cas insisted.

“What about it?” Balthazar said.

“You don’t see it?” Cas asked. He frowned, closed his hand, and opened it again to see that the blood was all black and white, as it should have been all along.

“You should really sanitize that,” Balthazar advised.

* * *

Dean was at home, washing dishes in soapy water, bubbles floating around his forearms and glinting in the afternoon sun. He smiled, feeling at peace. Suddenly, something unexpected hit against his hand, hidden under the surface of the sudsy water.

“What the—?” Dean said. He made a face as he fished around gingerly to grab what had scraped his palm, lifting it from the sink. “A freaking pineapple?” Dean stared at it. “Now that’s just wrong,” he said. He shook the suds from his hands, went to the kitchen counter where he’d moved the fruit bowl, and stuck the fruit in it with purpose. Then he looked at the three chairs set to one side, collapsing into one of them and putting his head in his hands. “Is this what it’s gonna be like,” Dean said, looking around the kitchen helplessly. He wasn’t sure what he meant by that. Being alone? Staying in the house all day, just waiting until Cas came back from wherever he’d gone off to—work. Somehow Dean always ended up being the one waiting for Cas, didn’t he? Wondering if this time Cas wouldn’t return.

The radio on the counter had been on and muttering static for ages, but now it cleared into a song:

_"I can make you mine, taste your lips of wine, anytime night or day…"_

Dean shook his head. He was being morbid, probably because he was bored. It wasn’t that Dean was discontent with being a homemaker—he loved it—but he just had this strange feeling that there should be something _more_.

Nothing in the kitchen seemed ready to answer his musings, however.

Well, except the honeydew on the chair next to him.

Dean picked it up it up with one hand and put it in the fruit bowl. “I should make fruit salad,” he sighed. “After coffee.”

 _"…Only trouble is,"_ the song continued, " _Gee whiz,_ _I’m dreamin’ my life away_."

* * *

The sun was getting lower in the sky as Castiel walked home from work. He passed the park, and the barber shop with its white-and-grey twirling sign. He went down the street toward his home, and saw, on the corner, the stop sign, which was red. Cas glared at it as he passed.

“What is that supposed to mean,” he muttered.

When Cas walked into the kitchen Dean was leaning against the counter, drinking a fresh cup of coffee.

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas said.

Dean held his cup in his hands, staring into it. “What,” he asked.

“I hate my job.”

Dean blinked up at him for a moment, confused. “Why? Did something happen?”

“Well, no—maybe. Management is terrible; the work is repetitive, I don’t feel like we’re having any good impact on this town, I don’t know what anything I sign is for… I could be authorizing things I don’t agree with. I could be signing off on forest logging operations for all I know! Are you aware how harmful that is to wildlife?”

Dean stared at his husband uncomprehending, before looking back down at his cup. The dark liquid was swirling, looking thicker and darker than it had any right to.

“So what, you think it’s a dead-end job?”

“Maybe,” Cas said.

“Yeah?” Dean said, distracted. “Do what you like, man, do what makes you happy.” The statement came out harsher then he’d intended. The coffee seemed to be inching its way across the inside of his cup, as though some kind of suction were drawing it along the sides. Dean flinched, and a bit of coffee spilled onto his hand.

“I can’t quit,” Cas said. “I’m doing this for you, Dean.”

“Damn it, Cas!” Dean said, suddenly angry. “Why do you always have to torture yourself?” The coffee in his cup had formed into a tendril and was moving, curling as though it was reaching for something—or _someone_. Without thinking, Dean threw the mug away from him—against the wall—overcome by a wave of fear and frustration. The cup shattered with a crash, and a dark stain dripped down the formerly pristine surface. Cas stared in astonishment.

“Dean, are you okay?” he asked.

Dean looked at the wall. “I don’t know,” he said tiredly. “I just… all day today I was walking around, finding this damn fruit everywhere,” he gestured at the fruit bowl, “and all I could think when I saw those vacant spaces—the, the chair, the spare room—was how _empty_ this place is without you, and…” he trailed off, his voice breaking.

Cas tilted his head inquisitively, voice even but laced with worry. “Dean, are you lonely?”

Dean regarded Cas. “Yeah,” he said at last. “But I—I don’t know what to do about it… I just wish it weren’t so quiet around here. I wish we had more time together to build something.” He shrugged, “I don’t know, maybe start a family or—”

Cas found himself smiling. “Yes.”

“Wait, like… _yes_ yes? You really want to?”

“Of course, Dean! This is wonderful! Here, let me get the broom,” he said, sweeping up the shattered cup in excitement. When it was cleaned away, Cas turned back around, stopping short when faced with a brand new color shining against the gray. Something wondrous and unexpected. Dean’s eyes were _green_.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked.

“Nothing,” Cas said softly, stepping forward. He placed a gentle hand on Dean’s cheek, staring into that breathtaking green. “You’re beautiful.”

Dean stared right back into Cas’ eyes. When at last they kissed, the world around them shimmered, fading and brightening as the world around them turned to color. When they parted, Dean watched Cas’ warm eyes open, dark lashes revealing deep, oceanic blue. “So are you,” he whispered.

A soft wingbeat resonated from nearby as a white stork flew through the open window. It deposited a basket on the table, puttered around for a moment, took the pear from the fruit bowl and flew away.

“I think he’s ours,” said Dean, looking down at the child.

“I have to admit,” said Cas, “when I said we should start a family I didn’t know it would be so… immediate. I would have read up on childcare if I’d had the time. I’m afraid I know nothing about infants,” he confessed.

Dean laughed, patting Cas on the back. “You’ll be fine. We’ll figure it out.”

“Still,” said Cas, shrugging, “it would be much easier if he were older.”

“True,” Dean agreed.

The baby in the basket glitched. A boy—perhaps in his teens or early twenties—now stood beside the table. “Hello,” he said, with an awkward, cheerful wave. “It’s nice to meet you! My name is Jack.”

_The End_

* * *

_Destiel will return next week: Same Super-Day, Same Super-Channel!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featured Songs:  
> [Hey Jude](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oiVGoHXNNTQ) by The Beatles (Mary's favorite Beatles song, that she used to sing to Dean as a lullaby)  
> [All I Have to Do is Dream](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JqRwJTOgmoU) by The Everly Brothers


	5. Recess

_♪ Sittin’ in my room, looking at all I’ve done  
_ _Everything I wanted has come to fruition  
_ _I should be happy but I can’t get out my bed  
_ _Stressing’ ‘bout the voices screamin’ inside my head… ♪_

* * *

**_Earlier._ **

* * *

Sam and Dean stood within the salt ring, the blood from Dean’s hand in the bowl by their feet. Sam threw a match onto Dean’s green jacket, which was carefully folded so that Cas’ bloody handprint was showing, and began to speak as the fire blazed.

It’s okay, Dean tried to reassure himself. We’ve got everything we need. We’ll get Cas back. It worked for Nick, right?

_“…qui dormiunt ad Dominum formosum, nexus noster restitutus est. Surgas ex abysso, in lumine existas!”_

The spell seemed to be taking hold. A form was coalescing out of darkness, pulling itself together like the Leviathan had, in purgatory. Something that looked like Cas if he’d been dipped in tar; eyes shining with a blue light, fingers dripping black goo.

“Dean?” Cas’ eyes stared sightlessly forward, but he knew Dean was there—of course he knew.

“Cas,” Dean stepped forward, as close as he could to the edge of the salt line. “Hang on, buddy, we’re getting you out of there.”

“Dean—” Cas said, urgently, “it’s not going to work. The Empty is pulling me back—we made a deal. It’s not going to let go.”

“No, you’ve just got to wait a minute… Sam?”

Sam looked at Dean worriedly. “I don’t know, Dean,” he said. “Cas might be right. We did the spell, Cas should’ve gotten out by now.” But instead, the form that had seemed to clear a moment ago was getting swallowed in the blackness.

“To hell with this, I’m pulling you out,” Dean said. He dashed out of the salt line. Despite the fact that he could barely see Cas’ face, he could still make out his expression. That familiar, loving, sad expression that seemed to say ‘this is useless, let it rest now.’

“Dean…”

Dean grabbed Cas’s arm, but it was already liquifying, no different from the darkness around it. “Cas, don’t you dare leave me again. You didn’t even give me time to answer…” he tugged, but there was nothing to hold onto, only black goo that ran over his palm before snapping away again.

For a brief moment, the blue sparks in the now amorphous form stared at Dean with a quiet sort of assurance. And then there was nothing at all. No Empty, no Cas, no evidence that the spell had done anything at all.

“Cas!”

Dean stared forward, a wave of hopelessness crashing over him.

Cas was dead. The spell had failed, leaving him with less than before they’d started. Even the coat and the handprint were gone, burned to ash.

“Dean,” Sam said, quietly.

“Don’t,” Dean snapped. He slammed the door open, marching out of the dungeon. He hated the sight of that place—he never wanted to set foot in there again.

He didn’t quite know where he was going, just wandered through the bunker in an aimless haze of grief, until he’d reached the library, staring down at those names he and Sam had carved into the table just a few short days ago, so giddy and sure that everything would be alright, now that they had free will. Well, Jack hadn’t shown since he became God, and Cas was dead. No more Team Free Will, he thought. Just the Winchesters. Just the ones who were cursed to survive.

* * *

Dean went to the kitchen and grabbed a whole unopened pack of beer, carrying it into the Dean Cave and shutting the door. It was dark in there, but Dean didn’t bother to turn on the light, making his way through the gloom with his phone flashlight. He sat down in his chair and stared ahead, putting the beer down on the floor beside him, and feeling alone enough, in the dark and the chill, to let himself cry.

He and Cas had used to watch movies in here, when Cas was staying. Once a week or sometimes more, they would just forget about whatever shit was going down and let the stories take them somewhere better, safer… Dean reached for a bottle and noticed as he did that there was a DVD case sitting on the TV stand. Sam rarely came in here, and he wouldn’t’ve left a movie out. Dean walked closer, shining his flashlight on the plastic. _Pleasantville_.

One of the movies he and Cas had watched together. Cas had really liked because it reminded him of free will. He said he could relate to it. _The part when the world started turning into color_ , he’d said, _that’s what it was like, for me_. _Art, love, possibilities, these are the beautiful things that make up humanity_ …

Dean hadn’t really gotten it, but it had been nice to know Cas liked the movie too, that it had meant something to him.

They hadn’t really had time to do things like watch movies together after they’d fixed things between them. Dean regretted a lot of things, but nothing had quite the same hollow ache of realizing he’d thrown away his and Cas’ last year together because he’d been angry, because it had made him feel better to lash out. They’d made up; but then with Chuck, and Jack, and Billie and the end of the world (again) they’d never really had a moment to sit down and catch their breath.

The last time they’d watched a movie in here had been before Mary died. Dean hadn’t come in since; no reason to, really.

But Cas must have. He must have come here alone, sometime when the two weren’t speaking, maybe when things were falling apart between them, and put on the movie that made him remember what was so worth saving about the world.

Dean opened the slim container and slid the CD into its player, pressing play before moving back to his easy chair, and watched the opening of the film, a sad little boy trying to escape his life by watching black and white comedies, by going into a world where everything was okay.

Dean took a drink, and didn’t quite realize when the blur of the movie had drifted away, and he’d fallen into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

_♪ I wake-up in the morning, and I wonder  
_ _Why everything’s the same as it was  
_ _I can’t understand, no, I can’t understand  
_ _How life goes on the way it does_

_Why does my heart go on beating?  
_ _Why do these eyes of mine cry?  
_ _Don’t they know it’s the end of the world?  
_ _It ended when you said, “Good-bye.” ♪_

* * *

His dream was a memory. They’d just made it out of Apocalypse World and saved the hunters there, and somehow an impromptu party had started. For the first and only time, the bunker being filled with people had felt exciting. Every public area was filled with people laughing, drinking and talking; and someone had put a phone into a glass and was playing some party songs playlist while a whole group of hunters had started dancing.

Dean looked around, amazed. This bunch had seemed like such a dour group, but there was something in the euphoria of having saved the day that was carrying everyone along. He didn’t know how he’d ended up next to the dancing or why he felt the urge to join in the crowd; he looked around, noticing that there were only strangers there; Sam and Mary and Jack off somewhere else. Nobody knew him here, or cared, so he stepped onto the dance floor, took a turn with a woman he’d never seen before; and in the moment between that song and the next, as he stepped back to change partners, he saw Cas standing at the edge of the room, watching the crowd with an odd, wistful expression.

Right, Dean realized. This was a human party, full of people who were trigger-happy around angels at best. Cas might be able to join in, but why would he feel welcome?

He made his way to the edge of the crowd. “Hey, Cas,” he said. “How you doing?”

“I’m fine, Dean,” Cas assured him.

Dean looked at him for a moment. “You want to dance?”

Cas tilted his head and squinted at Dean doubtfully, and Dean’s mouth tugged into a smile.

“I don’t know these dances,” Cas said.

“It doesn’t matter. You think these guys know how to dance either?”

They turned and looked at the awkward sway-hopping of a gruff-looking, scarred man nearby who looked like he’d learned everything he knew about dancing from fighting vampires.

“You may have a point,” Cas admitted.

Dean tugged him out into the group and Cas followed, looking doubtful but interested. As the music played, Dean stepped forward, pulled Cas’ arm up and around him, and laughed when Cas just stood there, staring at him in confusion. “Dude, to dance you have to actually move.”

“Oh,” Cas said. He stared down at their joined hands and Dean followed his gaze, suddenly feeling self-conscious. He glanced around, worried that people would be watching them, judging—but no one was paying them any mind.

What the hell. He and Cas had every right to be celebrating, too.

“Here, just follow my lead,” Dean explained. “If I turn you in this direction, you’ll follow that, see?”

“Yes, I see,” Cas said, with a tone of deep concentration. So they danced, Dean doing a few swing steps he’d picked up over the years and just letting Cas follow along however he felt like, until he noticed that Cas had gotten the pattern.

Dean remembered this part: Cas was staring down at their feet as they moved further and then closer in time to the fast-paced song, and Dean just allowed himself to look. A small part of him felt awkward and overwhelmed; feelings he was usually so practiced at pushing aside hovering so close to the surface he felt like it was sparking along his skin, too obvious, too bright. But he just couldn’t bring himself to care… not now. And Cas, he had a slight smile on his face, like he was actually letting his hair down and having fun; so breathtakingly stunning that Dean felt something almost like pain, like he was missing this moment before it had even passed.

A good memory.

But something was different this time.

Cas was staring back at him, pallor waxen and grey, looking with dead eyes, black goo trailing from the corner of his mouth.

Dean let go and stumbled back, eyes flying open into the dark, waking up in his chair in a cold sweat. The movie was long over, and the room was quiet, and echoing, and cold.

* * *

Dean didn’t notice there was someone in the kitchen until he was halfway to the sink, thinking to splash some water on his face. He stopped short and turned when he saw the glamorously-dressed woman sitting at the table. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Rowena smiled at him primly. “I came because your brother called me. I heard your angel got himself killed and you were having some trouble getting him back?”

“Yeah?” Dean said, skeptically. “And you’re gonna help us why?”

“Well I hate to see your family torn apart. And since Samuel asked, I couldn’t just turn the boy down,” she said, as Sam walked into the room with a box of assorted ingredients.

“Did you contact our backup?” Rowena asked.

Sam nodded, depositing the box onto the table.

“You have _another_ backup?” Dean asked.

“Yeah,” said Sam. “I uh… I prayed to Jack,” he said, not meeting Dean’s eyes.

“Oh, you don’t think I’ve tried that?”

“It’s not about him helping save Cas,” Sam said. “Not really. I mean, I understand why he might not wanna show up and piss off another cosmic being by stealing what’s… _technically_ its property… so we can’t expect him to get Cas for us. But if we do the first half, he’ll have to tie up the loose ends.”

“Which are?”

“The second your angel’s returned, the Empty will no doubt come into the world in order to drag him back,” Rowena said. “The Empty’s supposed stay where it belongs, and we figure the earth is God’s domain.”

“So, Jack’ll lock the Empty out once we finish the rescue,” Sam said.

“And he agreed to this?” Dean said. “Or are we just working on… blind faith here?”

Sam shrugged. “It’s Jack. I’ve gotta believe he’ll show.”

Dean nodded. “Right,” he said, not convinced. “So what’s this new spell?”

“Since the Empty won’t let Cas out, we’re going to open a door and send you boys _in_. That shouldn’t be too hard, since we have a link with Castiel’s spirit,” she said.

“A link? We already burned the blood,” Dean said. “What link do we still have?”

“Well, you of course!” Rowena said.

Dean stared blankly at her.

Rowena sighed. “Powerful beings can place claims on human souls, creating a bond. At first, it probably would have left a physical brand,” she continued. “A powerful witch like myself can sense magic that strong.”

“Are you saying Cas… _claimed_ my soul? What for?”

“If he hasn’t done anything with it yet, I doubt he was ever intending to,” Rowena said. “In fact it’s possible he did it on accident.”

“So, what I’m hearing is,” Sam said, smirking at Dean, “Cas imprinted on you?”

“Shut up,” said Dean. He turned to Rowena. “What do I have to do?”

“Just stand in the right place when I tell you to. The incantation should handle the rest.”

In a few minutes, Sam and Rowena had finished setting up the spell, and Dean, who had gone to his room, reentered with a machete in one hand and a flamethrower in the other. “I’m ready to fight anything,” he said.

“This door won’t stay open very long, so you’ve got to go in and bring him back as fast as you can,” Rowena said.

“How fast you talking?”

“Maybe… five minutes?”

“Five minutes. Are you kidding?”

“If I could do better, I would. But the Empty is one of the earliest beings. As powerful as God… hacking through it and keeping a portal open won’t exactly be easy.”

Rowena recited the incantation and purple energy shot from her hands. A dark fissure opened up in the wall. Sam and Dean walked towards it, but stepped back quickly when the portal squelched to half its size.

“Is that what you call five minutes?” asked Dean.

“It’s fighting back,” Rowena said.

The Empty was searching for the edges of the spell, folding around the portal, which sparked, creating a larger space for a second more, but the Empty kept twirling around it, swallowing that too.

Sam and Dean looked toward it, and Dean realized that there was no way they were going to even get through the portal, let alone back out.

After a moment, Sam spoke. “What if I helped?” he said.

Rowena looked surprised for a moment, but then nodded. “Well, you are a talented witch. It might at least give Dean another minute or two.”

Sam turned to Dean. “Will you be all right in there?” he asked.

“I’m 41, dude,” Dean said, with a smirk. “I think I can handle a cosmic being on my own.”

Sam rolled his eyes, and said the incantation as well, before stepping back to join Rowena.

“Just keep it open as long as you can,” Dean said.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Hurry up.”

“Good luck,” Rowena said, as he walked through, leaving the bunker behind.

* * *

_♪ Haven’t felt like this, my dear_

_Since I can’t remember when  
_ _It’s been a long, long time  
_ _You’ll never know how many dreams  
_ _I’ve dreamed about you_

_Or just how empty they all seemed without you. ♪_

* * *

Dean stepped through the portal, hefting his weapons, but a quick wind passed by him, and by the time he’d walked through the portal entirely, his weapons had vanished. Well, that’s not good, he thought. Maybe I could just grab Cas and run?

It was endless darkness for a long time. The only way Dean could pinpoint direction was by the glowing light of the portal behind him, which grew smaller and smaller until it was a single burning pinprick, like a distant fire. Dean had thought this place might be crowded, if it was filled with every angel or demon that had ever died; he’d imagined it as a sort of frozen purgatory, with everyone piled on the ground asleep. But he’d realized he’d assumed too much, like that there would even be “ground” in the first place. The endless space had no up or down, forward or back, and there was no sense of space within the nothingness at all. For something so vast, it was the most claustrophobic afterlife he’d ever been in, nothing like the ever-moving terrain of Purgatory, Heaven, or Hell. There was nothing to interact with or to fight; there was no sounds, no sight, and no touch, and as he moved, he began to wonder if he was even moving, or only imagining that he did. The only thing that reassured him he was actually getting somewhere was by looking back at the portal and seeing it fade into the distance.

The ruler of the Empty didn’t pounce on him. There was no evil presence looking over his shoulder. In fact, there was no presence at all. He could’ve been the only person to exist in the whole universe. Dean kept walking, but started to wonder if he would keep on walking until his time had run out, getting nowhere.

Finally he stopped.

“Okay,” he said. “So the rules of this place are different.” At least, Dean thought he said that. His mouth moved, he could feel the words in his throat, but when he spoke they disappeared into the complete soundlessness around him; that lack of anything that made him wonder if he even had a body at all.

Each world had its own rules. On Earth it was easy. You fight, you get hurt, you die. You need food and rest, you grow up, you change; everything was in constant flux for the beings on it, but the world stayed pretty solid and dependable.

In Hell, you get hurt, you die, you wake up again. You stop changing, but you can change the world around you, if you’re inventive enough, putting up little illusions. In Purgatory, you fight, you get hurt, you die (maybe)… but if you don’t die, you find yourself back at full health again. You don’t eat, you don’t sleep, and the world just keeps on changing around the central points: the rivers, certain mountainous slopes. In Heaven there’s the road. Every place has its center, its ways of getting around. Sometimes you just had to point yourself in the right direction.

“I get it,” Dean said—or imagined that he said. “There’s no external world here, right? It’s all about your mind.” He closed his eyes and kept walking. He stopped looking back at the portal, instead, he reached for Cas. He didn’t know _how_ , just that he did. As though he were playing Marco Polo with the universe, searching for echoes, for the precise feel of Castiel. And then he stumbled over something, and his eyes flew open.

Noise.

All of a sudden, as though it had just appeared. Cas was lying curled up while something that had his face rained down blow after blow, dotting Cas’s face with blood.

“You think you can escape me?” It said in a horrible little tone of lighthearted, frenzied anger. “You? The one who woke me up? No… I have plans for you… plans to see you suffer…” the thing that wasn’t Cas stopped, cocked its head, and then looked at Dean as though noticing him for the first time. “A human… _here_ ,” it said. “Dean… Winchester.” It looked over him, once, with a disdainful expression. “You Winchesters always take what’s mine. You cause _trouble_. Your Nephilim causes trouble. Your angel causes trouble. Your _Death_ … causes… trouble!”

While it had been speaking, Cas managed to sit up, staring at Dean with an inconsolable look. “Dean,” he said. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I told you I wasn’t going to leave you,” Dean said, taking hold of Cas and, pulling him to his feet, and focusing on the brightness of the portal. A single step took them back to the glowing line, which was already curling closed. But before they could step back out, the Shadow in the Empty was there too, holding a blade of darkness to Cas’ neck.

“Not so fast,” it said, with a giggle, and slit his throat.

Dean saw the blood rushing out, and a curling strand of grace, and then Cas’ body fell. Dean dashed toward him as the Empty let go, not even caring that the portal was withering away second by second, that finally there was no light left at all, only the nothingness and Cas’ dead body.

“Cas, come on…”

And Cas’ eyes opened. “Dean, I’m all right. I can’t be killed here. The Empty is just playing with me. But you have to go…”

“I can’t,” Dean said.

“What?” Cas forced himself up; the blood and cuts were already fading from his skin.

“The portal’s closed, Cas, I’m stuck here,” Dean said.

Cas bent his head, and when he looked back at Dean there were tears in his eyes. “Dean, I was trying to save you from this,” he said.

“Yeah, Cas, and I was trying to save you,” Dean said.

Cas stared at him brokenly.

“Touching,” the Empty said, stepping back into existence beside them with a deranged grin, this time looking not like a warped reflection of Cas, but Dean. “Very touching!” It clapped its hands together. “It’s like the Gift of the Magi in here! Giving up everything to save each other and getting… _nothing_! I’m impressed!”

Dean turned around and slugged the Empty square in the face. Or he tried to. But where the Empty had been when he started swinging was just… well, _emptiness_ a moment later. Dean unbalanced and fell, and the Empty giggled again, slamming a foot into Cas’ stomach over and over as Dean heard the crack of bone. Dean watched, sickly, as the thing that looked like him took such utter glee in hurting his friend.

“Fight me, you son of a bitch,” Dean shouted, but the Empty didn’t even seem to hear him anymore, and when he tried to catch hold of it, somehow he missed each time, as though it was always a little bit off from where he’d been aiming.

“Dean,” Cas whispered, looking over at him. Blood was trailing from a cut on his forehead. He just barely reached and grabbed Dean’s hand. “You shouldn’t have to watch this.”

“I’m not gonna leave you, Cas. Even if I could, I wouldn’t.”

“I know,” Cas said. And then he smiled slyly, an idea forming. “Dean, you don’t belong here. You have human dreams, ones the Empty can’t take charge of. Let me allow you to sleep, and I’ll join you there.”

“Join me?” Dean said, also quiet, as though afraid the Empty would overhear, even though it was completely focused on twisting its hand mercilessly above Cas. “In my dreams?”

“Yes,” said Cas.

“Wait, so then… you wouldn’t be able to feel any of this,” Dean said, with dawning realization. “Or, register it, at least…” He didn’t have to think twice. “Do it.”

Cas put two fingers to Dean’s forehead, as Dean stared back into his eyes. “We’ll go somewhere nice,” Dean said. “Somewhere happy. I promise.”

* * *

_♪ People gonna say  
_ _If you need a break, someone’ll take your place  
_ _People gonna try  
_ _To tell you that you’re fine with dollars in their eyes  
_ _(Just remember)_

_Don’t let them fuck you, honey, no, oh  
__Don’t let them try…_  
_Don’t let them hurt you, baby  
__Just say, “Recess, I’m tired.”_ _♪_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featured Songs: 
> 
> [The End of the World](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xHa6a3FtPJg) by Skeeter Davis  
> [It’s Been a Long, Long Time](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iP0tHmoc1rs) by Kitty Kallen  
> [Recess](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WH8QnOdlrQg) by Melanie Martinez


End file.
